


Centuries Before Love and War

by Mosca



Series: SugarVerse [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Horny Teenagers, Lovers to Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosca/pseuds/Mosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first night with someone Johnny will know for the rest of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Centuries Before Love and War

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Sandyk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandyk) for beta reading and Thistle for audiencing.
> 
> I wrote this for Season_7 for [Holiday on Ice](http://holiday-on-ice.livejournal.com/) 2009\. The title is from a Stars of Track and Field album. I originally posted this to my Livejournal in March 2009.
> 
> This fic contains sixteen-year-olds drinking and having sex.

The competitions aren't different now that Johnny's picked up a reputation, but the parties are. He used to be able to sit with the other American kids, drinking the spiked punch and feeling invisible. But last year at Czech Skate, he decided to console himself after the worst competition of his entire life by losing his virginity. Now, people know that he's gay and he hooks up, so now, in France, following the second-worst competition of his entire life, he is trying to just sit on the windowsill with Sara and enjoy his spiked punch but finding it impossible. Every guy in the room is giving him one of two looks: the "pick me!" look or the "don't you dare come on to me" look. 

He thinks they should have to fight for it. Like, vogue it off or something. He rented _Paris Is Burning_ this summer and freaked his mom out when she realized what it was, and now he thinks everything should be settled by vogueing.

The problem with that is, Stéphane would win. Stéphane is the only guy at the party with his own way of looking at Johnny, because they've already done it. Last year in Norway, Johnny's second time and probably Stéphane's first, although he didn't admit it. It was kind of nice and really funny, but those aren't the kind of memories you're supposed to associate with sex. So they're friends now. Johnny has tried on a bunch of other guys since, and most of them fit him better. But Stéphane will brew muddy coffee in his hotel room and save Johnny a cup. He'll give Johnny a hug when they both skated like people who don't even deserve a Junior Grand Prix assignment. And then during the gala they don't get to skate at, he'll get Johnny so lost in St. Gervais that he has to use his emergency cell phone to call his mom. 

In all the movies Johnny watched this summer, there were gay people who were friends with each other without any undercurrent of sexual tension. In the movies, they would swish their hips around and sing along to music from the '70s, and they'd hang around complaining about the men who broke their hearts. Johnny's glad to know that's allowed. 

"I hope you aren't, um, bored of me?" Everything Stéphane says in English sounds like a question. He probably thinks he's saying it wrong.

"You're my new favorite," Johnny says. 

Sara seems to misinterpret that as a signal that they're hooking up, and she leaves them alone. Johnny tries to beg her to stand between them and chaperone, but she's totally gone in about half a second. 

Stéphane scrunches up his face. "So who do you think? Anyone?"

Johnny shrugs. The punch is making everyone look alike. He's mostly been ogling the straight Russians.

"I like a Canadian," Stéphane says.

"Who, him?" Johnny gestures in what he thinks is a subtle way, but Stéphane slaps his wrist and shrieks at him to stop pointing, which of course draws more attention. The Canadian beams. Stéphane does some imperceptible Swiss thing and half a second later is gone with his Canadian, leaving Johnny alone with his elbows on the windowsill. 

There's a French boy staring at Johnny, and the look on his face doesn't fall into either the gay or straight category. The boy has freckles the same color as his hair and a nose too big for his face. Johnny can't remember his name, which is a bad thing, because this boy skated better than he did. Johnny knows it's always best to remember the names of your enemies. He waves, flashing a sweet, poisonous smile.

The boy comes over. It's not a big hotel room, and the boy only has to take five or six steps to cross over to Johnny. Cocky, the boy grins. To trip him up, Johnny says, "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm Brian." He is _not_ Brian. He's Jean-Philippe, Pierre-Loup, something dramatic with a hyphen. Brian is a name for a hockey goalie. Someone who'd beat you up in the locker room after gym class.

" _Je m'appelle_ Johnny." He touches his chest, resorting to gestures.

"You speak French?"

" _Un peu._ " Johnny's taking it at school. It's his favorite subject, the other thing he's good at. But there's a big difference between being able to conjugate verbs and _speaking_ French.

"I, too. I... English. A little bit." Brian blushes. It makes him cuter.

They aren't equipped for small talk. Johnny lets the punch make him bold. "Let's go somewhere. Somewhere quieter." He waits for Brian to balk at him and apologize for the misunderstanding. But Brian follows him into the hallway with a shy and fearless smile. It's like the tune in his head has shifted, but he likes the new rhythm.

They go to Brian's room. Johnny asks, "Your roommate?" but Brian gestures dismissively. When Johnny kisses him, he flinches. Johnny steps back, holding his palms out in front of him. Had Brian thought Johnny was luring him away from the party to play Scrabble?

Johnny makes for the door, but Brian blocks him with his body. He laces his arms around Johnny's waist and touches their noses together. Johnny tries another kiss, and Brian accepts this one. Brian is an aggressive kisser, his tongue sweeping Johnny's mouth, his hands all over Johnny's back and butt. A full-contact kiss.

Johnny backs them onto the bed. He takes off his shirt, and Brian mirrors him. He takes the condom out of his back pocket, and Brian stares at him. He puts the condom on the nightstand, and Brian kisses him until he's flat on his back, looking up. This close, Brian's freckles are blurry.

Brian fills the space between Johnny's jeans and skin with his hand. He seems curious about Johnny's dick, like he's not sure how it works. To encourage him to keep playing, Johnny unzips and pulls his jeans down the few inches he can manage with Brian's weight on him. He'll be happy enough with just a hand job. 

He gets off, and Brian gets off of him. "First time with a boy?" Johnny says, trying to sound like a veteran at this. If he had any real experience, he'd know whether to take his pants the rest of the way off or put them back on.

"With a boy, it's the first," Brian says. "But a girl, I do it before." He sounds confident that he did that pretty well. He takes off his pants, giving Johnny a perfect movie-frame view of his butt. Johnny strips like that was his plan all along.

Brian kneels on all fours, making a cage over Johnny's body. He has a giant boner, and it looks silly. Penises are silly, fundamentally. It's silly to want to touch them, lick them, put them in his butt. And yet that's what Johnny thinks about pretty much every waking second.

Brian isn't really doing anything. Maybe he's waiting for Johnny, the experienced one, to show him. The idea of being pounded in the butt by Brian isn't all that appealing. Not that it's something Johnny doesn't enjoy generally. But Brian would be trying to show how awesome he was at it when he's, like, been with a girl or two? Johnny's done it a couple of times where he was basically lying on his stomach waiting for it to be over, and he's sort of learned what kind of guy to expect that from. The solution is _not_ passive complacency.

He slides under Brian so his face is under Brian's dick. This, he loves: a guy totally at the mercy of his mouth. And Brian seems to like it, too. It reassures Johnny, and shocks him a little, when boys like him, the same way it shocked him when the other kids in his skating lessons could hardly stand up. When he gets a guy off, he wonders what makes him so special, and he clings fiercely to that specialness.

"So what do you think?" he asks Brian. He's sitting on the bed, wondering if it's time to leave.

Brian sits behind him, caressing Johnny's arms. The question was too vague.

"So are you gay?" Johnny says. 

Brian pulls away. He's behind Johnny, and it feels like he's invisible. Finally, he says, "I don't know."

Now, Johnny has something to prove, so he turns around and pushes Brian down. He winds up on top, a strange and happy place to be. Fucking a boy. The very idea of _fucking_ as a thing he can do, that guys will let him do to them. He wonders what the French word is and which conjugation pattern it follows. Thinking about verbs slows him down and makes the sex go on longer. That's a good trick he'll have to remember. 

Brian arches his face up from the pillows and moans his approval until Johnny comes. Johnny gets up and bounces softly on the bed while Brian lies still on his stomach. Sex makes him feel salty and greasy, like he's been deep fried, and he needs a shower. Like, a psychological shower, alone in the steam pretending to be Britney. He jumps off the bed and puts his pants on.

"You, um --" Brian is stumbling over his English. "You may stay here." 

The only way out of here is to get mean. "I'm not your girlfriend." While Brian pores that over, Johnny puts his shoes on and gets out. 

In the hallway, he wonders what it would be like to not be sure. Johnny's known he was gay since approximately kindergarten, since before he had a word for it or a sex drive. To be sixteen and still unsure -- well, he guesses it's possible, and he got a good night out of it. But he doesn't want to stick around while Brian figures it out.

He's almost back to his room when he runs into Stéphane. "How was Canada?" 

Stéphane scrunches up his face and gestures _so-so._ "Small."

Johnny cracks up. "France was... I don't know." That actually sums it up pretty well.

Stéphane grabs both of Johnny's wrists, suddenly very serious. "What part of France?"

Johnny looks over his shoulders to make sure they're alone. "Brian? Do you know him?"

Stéphane shrieks and claps his hand over his mouth. He _has_ to hear all about it. He'll make coffee even though it's almost midnight. Johnny's going to be up all night with the only guy at this competition he _doesn't_ want to have sex with, and he's certain that's where he wants to be.


End file.
